


The Guardsman

by mvernet



Series: Sentinel Thursday Prompt Fics [7]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Color Guard, M/M, Murder Mystery, Slash with Goggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvernet/pseuds/mvernet
Summary: Originally written for Live Journal Sentinel Thursday prompt, flag.Blair has epic hidden skills.





	The Guardsman

It was a quiet Tuesday morning at Cascade PD, Major Crimes Division. Blair grimaced as he exited the dreaded elevator juggling his overloaded backpack and a carry-all of six, made to order, eco-friendly paper cups of coffee as diverse as the people he worked with. Blair shook off the uncomfortable feeling of the big steel box and smiled as he saw his co-workers shooting the breeze in the bullpen. He was right on time for a good old fashioned bullshit session over fresh coffee.

 

Eager hands took the offered coffee with heartfelt nods, back pats and smiles, but the conversation never lagged. The current case was the murder of Bill Jenkins, a football coach at Cascade High School. A sad affair, a stabbing, with many suspects, most underage students with teenage angst surrounding each one. The case had everyone puzzled and worried as forensics could not figure out what kind of murder weapon was used.

 

The Anthropologist in Blair had come to understand that the way his stalwart friends coped with such emotional cases was to turn to each other for support and humorous anecdotes about their own experiences. At first Blair wondered how they could retain their humanity when faced with the depravity they saw every day. But once he earned their respect by standing by their brother, Jim through thick and thin, he understood the deep and profound brotherly and sisterly love and loyalty behind the wise cracks and seemingly inappropriate joking around. He really could write a dissertation on that subject alone. One that was close to his own heart.

 

Blair sat on the edge of Jim’s desk, enjoyed a brief grateful glance thrown his way by Jim over his lidded cup, and tuned into the conversation.

 

“I played baseball in high school,” Rafe was reminiscing, “Old Coach Carter was older than dirt but he could throw a curveball that could knock you over and if you were goofing around, it sometimes did!”

 

Jim looked thoughtful while savoring his light french roast, “I played football and baseball. To this day I can’t decide which I love more.”

 

“Basketball, man!” H. chimed in. “I still got the moves.” H. crumpled a piece of paper and tossed it into Jim’s trash. “Slam! See?”

 

A snort came from Megan’s desk where she was busy typing an overdue report. Blair couldn’t let it go. “What, Megs? What did you play in high school?”

 

Megan looked up from her desk and raised her chin proudly. “Real football. Women’s Soccer to you, Yanks. No wimpy helmets, or little sissy baskets. Just my head and a ball.”

 

“That explains a lot,” Jim quipped, earning him his own hit on the head from a well aimed pink eraser. Joel let out a deep laugh at that. “You still got the moves, Connor.”

 

Megan smiled brilliantly at the older man. “What did you play, Joel?” she asked with affection.

 

“I am proud to say I was a band kid. Trumpet to be exact. And before you all start in on me. I dare you to march in below zero weather with a brass mouthpiece frozen to your lips. Band took guts and stamina!”

 

The bullpen erupted in hoots and laughter.

 

“No wonder you can disarm a bomb without breaking a sweat, Joel!” Blair clapped his hands and cheered for his friend.

 

Joel grinned. “Being a band kid had its bennies. I always had a trumpet case in hand to ward off assaults on the way home from practice, and all that puckering made me a great kisser!”

 

Another round of laughs was heard with a smattering of kissy noises. The conversation naturally ended at that high point and everyone settled in to get back to work. Jim finished his coffee and tossed the cup. “Thanks Blair. It was just perfect. Not too strong, light or sweet.”

 

Joel looked over to add his thanks, but realized they hadn’t heard from Blair. Curiosity grabbed a hold of him. “Blair, buddy. You never said what you played in high school.”

 

Jim and the rest of Major Crimes came to attention and all eyes were on their observer. Blair crossed his arms and wiggled uncomfortably on Jim’s desk. “Well, I moved around a lot. I actually tested out of all standard high school classes at fourteen and skipped my junior and senior year. The only year I ever joined any sport was my freshman year. I wanted to play basketball, but I wasn’t tall enough. I tried out for baseball, I throw a dynamite fastball, but the coach didn’t like my hair, my lack of a father or my Jewish heritage.”

 

Blair noticed he had brought his overprotective team down, something he certainly didn’t want to do. He smiled sadly, remembering those painful times when he tried to fit in. He also remembered that the murdered coach on their current case was a known bigot and they had only started to dig around in his extracurricular affairs. He sighed, but knew his own truth would lighten the mood he had inadvertently ruined.

 

“I joined the Color Guard. I ended up really loving it!”

 

Blair broke into a real grin as his friends erupted in good natured laughter.

 

“Color Guard, Chief?” Jim shook his head. “Only you.”

 

H. looked at Rafe who was chuckling into his coffee. “I don’t know that sport.” he admitted. Megan looked puzzled also.

 

Joel was the one who clarified. “It’s part of band. You know the gals… and guys who lead the band out to the field.”

 

H. started to laugh in ernest. “You mean those geeks who throw the flags around? We always hooted when they dropped ‘em.”

 

Blair felt the need to defend his chosen sport. “Hey, man! Color Guard rocks! It takes a lot of practice to throw a flag. There are tons of moves you have to memorize and you have to deal with wind and weather conditions. I bet none of you could throw a flag that was bigger than you into the air with a double twist, in a gusty wind, and catch it in time with the music! Sometimes we used prop swords, rifles and flags. Talk about moves! Color Guard is steeped in tradition too. Flag bearers were always revered during the Middle Ages. It took a lot of courage to hold up your army’s colored flag and lead men into battle.”

 

The bullpen was once again full of laughter. “It takes a lot of courage to admit you were in the Color Guard, Hair Boy!” H. raised his empty coffee cup in a mock salute and tossed it in his trash. “Two points.”

 

Blair tried to look indignant, but Jim as always, knew that he was playing the clown. Jim stood and ruffled Blair’s hair. “Come on, Guardsman, mine. We need to go down to the high school and check out the murder scene again. I feel like I missed something and we need to find that murder weapon.”

 

~~~***~~~

 

The murder scene was actually a corner of the gym near the bleachers. There was nothing decorating the corner but rolled up exercise mats and a plastic bin filled with assorted clothing items with ‘lost and found’ scribbled on it. A metal holder for flags brightened the corner with a display of rainbow colors.

 

Jim had been trying to isolate smells, but it was very difficult. Blair tried to help. He touched his Sentinel’s arm and spoke in a soothing tone. “Jim try to isolate what scent is out of place.”

 

Jim closed his eyes, grounded by Blair’s soft touch and voice. “There are too many odors, Chief. I’m getting old sweat and wood polish, blood from the murder tainted with that God awful body spray all the boys use nowadays. They should outlaw that crap, Chief. It’s like a toxic gas and the school reeks of it.” Jim rubbed his temples, obviously in pain.

 

“Take it easy, Big Guy. Scent is not working here, obviously, so we use sight. Let’s do another search for the murder weapon. Got the keys?”

 

Jim sighed and shook his head. “I’ll get them from the janitor. He bathes in Old Spice. I can smell him from here. Stay put, Chief. I’ll be right back. I could use some fresh air.”

 

Blair chuckled lightly at Jim’s grumpiness. His scientific mind thought about the plethora of tests he could do with his Sentinel in such a richly scented environment. The best friend in Blair made plans for a lightly seasoned dinner served alfresco on the loft’s balcony.

 

Blair walked over to the flag holder and lifted one out. He smiled at his random choice of a black, white and red pirate flag with a strange grinning skull and crossbones complete with eyepatch and jaunty kerchief.

 

“Hum. Must have been used in a ‘pirate’ routine,” he muttered. Blair weighed the flagpole in his hands. “Feels a little off.” He gave it a light spin and a toss. It came back into his palm like it was attached by an elastic band. Blair smiled and called to mind an old routine. He counted quietly as he took a proper stance, feet a little apart head held high. “One, two, three, four.”

 

Blair found his place of balance on the flag staff and gathered the silky flag in his hand. He let it fall briefly to the floor as he centered the end of the staff in front of his face, he performed a simple pop toss and the flag unfurled in the air. He opened his palm as if begging for money and performed a money hand toss. The flag smoothly twirled three times in the air before returning exactly where it started from. Blair smiled to himself, then startled at the sound of clapping.

 

“Beautiful, Mr. Sandburg! I never pegged you as a flag tosser.”

 

“Oh! Mr. Blake. I guess you never forget, huh?”

 

Mr. Blake was the assistant coach and one of the many suspects. Jim and Blair had interviewed Mr. Blake just two days before. Jim mentioned to Blair that the assistant coach’s heartbeat was racing during the interview. Blair began to wonder why he was here since the gym was closed. Blake walked over to the flag rack and picked one up. He lightly tossed it in the air and caught it without effort. Then put it back and turned to Blair.

 

“I coach Color Guard along with every other sport that jerk Jenkins thought was beneath him. I’m not sorry he’s dead. He was a racist pig and made every life he touched a living hell.”

 

Blair, still holding his flag, began to feel uncomfortable. Blake’s words hit him like an ice cold spray. “Mr. Blake, you really shouldn’t be in here. It’s an official crime scene. Too many people traipsing through here could contaminate evidence.”

 

Blake’s eyes were dark and dangerous. “I’m sorry. I certainly wouldn’t want to do that. Have you found the murder weapon yet?” Blair knew the mysterious murder weapon was not discussed with the suspects. He didn’t need Sentinel senses to know he was staring at a murderer. Suddenly it all made sense to him. The shape of the wound above the dead man’s heart. Blake’s strange nervousness. “A flag! You used a flag to kill Jenkins, didn't you?”

 

Blake stepped closer to Blair. “Actually, I used this pirate flag. Fitting don’t you think? I think you need a demonstration!” Blake made a grab for the flag staff but Blair swiftly moved away and tossed it into the air. The plastic cap concealing the end popped off revealing a deadly sharpened spike. Blair twisted his body under the flag and grabbed it at just the right spot, giving it a forty-five degree toss from behind his back. It sailed into the air fluttering like the wings of a captured bird. Blake snarled and tackled Blair sending him sprawling. Blair reached out to the falling flag that seemed to want to perch in his outstretched hand. He took hold and wrapped the silk flag around Blake's head. Blair pushed the frantic man off of him and placed the spikey end of the staff against Blake’s heart. Blair heard a panicked, “Blair!” as Jim, Rafe and H. ran in with guns drawn.

 

Rafe rolled Blake over to cuff him as Blair, out of breath but smiling, pulled the deadly flag away. He handed it to a stunned H. “That’s the… murder weapon,” Blair took a deep breath, “and that’s your murderer.”

 

“Wow! Hair Boy! We saw you take him down. That was… awesome!”

 

Jim turned Blair around and monitored him with his senses. Satisfied his Guide was in no immediate danger, Jim shook his head and pulled Blair into a quick hug.

 

“You sure you’re alright, Chief?”

 

“I’m fine, Jim. Just another day in the life of a Guardsman.”


End file.
